


Holiday Handouts are Hauntingly Hard

by Ononymous



Series: Christmas 2017 Stories and Requests [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 03:14:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13158075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ononymous/pseuds/Ononymous
Summary: For Mettaton the show must go on, especially at this time of year. But Blooky just wants to show what he got him.





	Holiday Handouts are Hauntingly Hard

**Author's Note:**

> Original Request: "Something with Mettaton and Napstablook" + "Mettaton and Friends Variety Christmas Hour"

"Go on, Blooky darling, open it!"

Mettaton sat on the edge of his seat, looking at the black and pink present before the deathly pale figure floating above it.

"Um... Okay..."

Without it being entirely clear how, the frilly bow was pulled open, allowing the paper to neatly fall away from an equally pink box. As Napstablook continue to look at it, the box opened, and the prize was revealed.

"MTT™ Branded Headphones! My latest product, and I've got you one of the first batch. You'll look fabulous no matter what you listen to. And I took the liberty of signing it!"

"Oh. Um, that's really nice. Thank you..."

The grey headphones already on Napstablook's head floated off and settled on the ground, becoming more opaque. At the same time the shocking pink headphones floated into position, becoming as translucent as their predecessors had been.

"Much better! I'm all for grey every now and then, but everything in moderation, dear!"

"I guess... Well I guess I better give you-"

The dressing room door opened. "Five minutes, Metty!"

"My goodness, where does the time go? Places, everyone! Blooky, are you ready with the music?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. Do you want your-"

"Well don't beat about the bush, chop chop!"

"Okay..."

* * *

**_LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, BOYS AND GIRLS, HUMANS AND MONSTERS AND EVERYTHING INBETWEEN_ **

**_LIVE FROM NEWER-HOME-ABSOLUTELY-NOT-ASGORE-COME-UP-WITH-SOMETHING-BETTER-ALRIGHT-TORI-DEAR-HOW-ABOUT-TORGORENOPOLE-THAT-WILL-DO-IN-A-PINCH-BUT-HOW-ABOUT-GOREN-FOR-SHORT, OR GOREN FOR SHORT_ **

**_IIIIIIIIIIIIIIT'S_ **

**_THE MTT™ NON-DENOMINATIONAL HOLIDAY METTATON AND FRIENDS VARIETY HOURRRRRRR_ **

Cheering flooded the studio, the broadcasting building and the airwaves, as confetti exploded in great bursts. A dull grey box in the middle of the set had every camera focused on it as it lit up, then fell apart, revealing the sleek form of Mettaton.

"Good evening, everyone! Hope you're ready for a show you'll never forget! Drama, romance, bloodshe- oops, children are watching. Drama, friendship, adventure for all ages!"

He bowed so deeply his nose threatened to scratch the floor, as the cheering continued.

"Now as all great entertainers know, it's important to save your best for last. But don't worry, it's equally important to use your best right at the beginning! Hit it, Blooky!"

A high intensity, but paradoxically ephemeral and chilled beat started up, and Mettaton immediately got into the rhythm, every thrust of his perfectly shaped legs threatening to stab someone in the audience. It wasn't just dancing however, for as the music got faster (but also more relaxing), sections of the platform began to rise, and Mettaton performed death defying leaps, first merely from platform to platform, but then through hoops. Then flaming hoops. Then blindfolded. Then while defusing the very real explosive dog happily napping on a tiny platform near the ceiling with one extended arm, the other juggling eggs. As the music drew to a close, he smashed the eggs with a single swipe, and they fell in a strategically placed pan where a disinterested cat started making an omelette.

"Are they in position?" he whispered, "Okay, good. Well, ladies and gentlemen," he now called, "I hope we've gotten the ball rolling! But I can't be everywhere at once. So now it's time for a special live edition of everybody's favourite reality show: Semilovania!"

As the applause started up, Mettaton was finally released from nonstop observation. A white dome materialised next to him as the screen started the title sequence.

"Hey, uh, you want me to give you your-"

"So sorry, Blooks, need to get in place for the next sequence after this!" He took three steps to the right. "Perfect!"

"Okay, so-"

"Makeup!"

The emerald flames of Mettaton's latest intern walked right through Napstablook and indeed started trying to conceal some of the more egregious seems of his molded face. Meanwhile, the hidden cameras in a nearby house were capturing some of the organic chemistry.

"SANS, HAVE YOU SEEN PEEKABOO WITH FLUFFY BUNNY?"

"yup."

"OH, GOOD! WHERE?"

"in your room about two months ago."

"SANS, THAT IS CLEARLY NOT WHAT I MEANT! HAVE YOU SEEN IT TODAY?!"

"sure thing, bro."

"WHERE?"

"channel 8. i think the movie really helps the story _hop_ along at a better pace." He looked straight at the camera and winked, or would have if he had eyelids.

"SAAAANS!!!"

As the viewers laughed at the comically large bone Papyrus had summoned to exact a vicious manner of justice from his kin, Mettaton was muttering into his microphone about the next segment.

"Number 32-F? No, his fur won't work with the lights, do the pick again. 22-K? Could work, but she's a bit feisty, might go off script. Try again. 49-B? Perfect. Right, places!"

"Um, can I-"

"I said places!" Everybody obeyed.

"Okay, we are live in five, four, three..." The lights all shone down on the host.

"My my, what those boneheads get up to!" Hearty laughs. "Now it's the part of the show where a lucky member of the audience gets a chance to win fabulous prizes! Control room, please select the seat... now!"

On the screen above the stage, a furious series of numbers and letters blipped by so fast nobody could make them out, a low grade drum roll accompanying the tension courtesy of Napstablook. Then it stopped.

"Seat number 49-B! Amazing! You sir, come on down!"

A nervous looking cat in a shabby suit practically tripped over himself approaching the stage. His mouth was a blur, but no sound came out.

"Need some water, my good man?"

He nodded, accepting a glass emerging from a hole in the ground. "Ugh, that's better. Thank you so much Mister Mettaton I've needed this ever since I bought that croissant and-"

"Yes, yes, but you're not at the fabulous prize yet, dear. Are you ready to risk everything for what's in this mystery box?"

"You bet!"

"Then it's simple. All you have to do... Is eat that omelette in thirty seconds!"

The musical stung might have revealed the identity of a hundred unknown fathers as everything with a lens zoomed in upon the rather tame looking yellow dish.

"And it's not just any omelette, Darling. That omelette has been cooked by the worst employee in my restaurant! Who knows what horrors he's put in it."

"Thanks a lot for the compliment, boss-" His microphone got cut. Mettaton made a mental note to ask who gave him a microphone in the first place.

" _Rrrrrrready?_ Go!"

He was all over the dish like it was draped in catnip, the only reason it wasn't being MTT had stringent testing in place. The golden numbers on the screen steadily ticked down, but the cat paid it no heed, shovelling forkload after forkload into his gaping maw, chewing like a wood chipper. At the ten second mark Mettaton led the audience in counting down out loud. With two seconds to go a loud gulp announced the cat had succeeded, and the audience applauded his triumph. In spite of everything, he was still hungry.

"Congratulations, darling! If I may, how was it?"

"...not bad. Might have needed pepper."

"..." said the cook gratefully, his microphone still cut.

"Well then, darling, here's your prize!"

He looked like all his prayers had been answered. He allowed himself a moment's anticipation before opening the box and pulling out-

"From our dear partners at Spider Bakery LTD, a deluxe Spider Croissant!"

The audience oohed and ahhed at such a fabulous prize, and fresh applause erupted.

"Um, can I exchange it for cash equivalent?"

"Take it up with SB, darling. Toodles!" Uncertainly the cat walked off the stage. "Now then dears, I have to get ready for our fantastic finale. In the meantime, let's stimulate our minds with gripping debate about important issues. Live from our subsidiary studio on Absolutely-Not-Asgore Avenue, _Thaaaaat's Politics!_ "

The lights went out, but every eye in the studio noticed the green flames returning to touch up Mettaton's make up.

"Um, hi again. While there's a break can I please give you-"

"So sorry Blooky, but I wasn't lying. I think you'll appreciate what I've got planned. It really fits the season!"

"Are you sure? Well, I'm sure you'll have fun. I guess I can give it later..."

Nobody picked up on the note of dejection. Meanwhile over on Absolutely-Not-Asgore Avenue, the discussion had gotten underway.

"I'm just staying," Woshua was saying, "that incorporeal monsters have a nasty habit of leaving slime trails everywhere. It's filthy!"

"Slime trails? _SLIME TRAILS?!_ " the dummy's stuffing pressure reached dangerous levels. "You've been reading too many 'history books', buddy, ghosts don't do that at all!"

"Now now, Mister Dummy," the Ursine moderator cut across, "let him explain fully. Mister Woshua, can you elaborate on how you formed this opinion?"

"Of course, Mister Ticks. I am aware of a number of houses in Waterfall where ghosts used to congregate, and there is slime everywhere. It is a simple logical inference."

"Infer this you mini-bathtub! Did the fact a bunch of snails live there escape your notice?!"

"Ah yes, the Gastropodcentric Slimate Change theory. Need I remind Mister Dummy that it is merely a theory?"

A button pinged off the dummy threatening to put a hole in anything it hit, but his voice was steady. "Mister Ticks, I hardly need remind your audience of the difference between theory and hypothesis, and how this rhetorical tactic is disingenuous?"

"Hmph, can't call my facts filthy, so call my tone filthy. I bet you would just smooch a ghost and their weird music."

" _Heck yeah, I would-!_ "

"Gentlemen, no need for ad monsterum attacks! Woshua, closing remarks?"

"Certainly, Paulie. I think I've proven my point with reasoned debate, without resorting to the crude appeal to emotion my opponent clearly resorts to."

"And your response?"

" _ **I'LL APPEAL MY EMOTIONS RIGHT UP YOUR-!!!**_ "

The broadcast cut off thanks to the quick reflexes of a producer. Back at the studio, the lights hadn't come on.

"It's time..."

Everyone was on the edge of their seats. Except Sans, who continued to watch the show back at his house.

"For a finale so daring, even I don't know what will happen!"

A single light shone down on Mettaton. He looked different. His right eye glowed with power, blowing his hair clear. Wings of pink energy threatened to carry him through the sky. His reactor core was on display, shining like a human soul. His legs were now only connected to him by powerful electro magnets, so sharp he could have sliced the barrier open with a single kick.

"To help me perform this finale, I need the only other person who can be as fabulous as me!"

He began to walk on thin air, as he did indeed begin to float.

"Napstablook, Darling, come here!"

"Huh? Oh, okay..." With no aplomb, the ghost approached his cousin.

"I know you've been dying to give me your present all evening. But this is the final part of my own present. You get to give it in front of everybody, and I get to test my improv skills. No safety net, folks! When we embrace the spirit of giving, we do it for real!"

The audience suitably gasped. Napstablook continued to look at him.

"Oh. I guess that's alright..."

With no urgency he returned to his DJ bench, picked up a package in simple brown paper and returned to where Mettaton floated. With precision, Mettaton unwrapped the package, revealing a shimmering blue pillow beneath it. Everyone remained utterly silent for thirty seconds.

"Well, um, I remembered when we used to spend the night at Aunt Inkyblook's house, and you used to say her pillows were really comfortable, and how you were finding it hard to sleep as a robot, so..."

Mettaton stared at him. His expression was unreadable.

"I'm sorry, it's not very good..."

Mettaton's eyes suddenly closed, and he fell to the ground with a loud clatter. The ethereal pillow remained where it was however, now in the invisible grip of a second translucent figure. He fluffed it a few times in wonder.

"...thank you." His voice was diminished, but carried all the bombast of his corporeal form. "That's so thoughtful, Blooky."

"Oh, you like it? That's good, Happy." Napstablook's form seemed to solidify in joy.

"What's say we race some snails before I test this pillow out?"

"Um, sure. That sounds fun..."

The second ghost turned his beautiful eyes towards camera one. "Thank you for joining us everyone. Don't forget the important people in your life!"

They faded from view as the audience gave the show a standing ovation, while a yellow lizard scurried towards the discarded shell to check for damage.

**Author's Note:**

> Pastebin Version: https://pastebin.com/nman4tt3
> 
> Let me know what you think, and thanks for reading!


End file.
